


After the Run

by SnowTiefling



Series: Abrams [2]
Category: Shadowrun
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 09:29:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20598524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowTiefling/pseuds/SnowTiefling





	After the Run

Abrams set his combat pack down on his bed and shook his head. “22 rounds of APDS and 2 grenades spent, 3 lives saved.” He closed his eyes and sighed “And 1 comrade fallen.” He clenched his fists and shook his head clear of anger. It wouldn’t help. Gakana was dead, another victim of the corps and their choke hold on life in the Rotten Apple. 

He packed away his armor after checking it over, he hadn’t been hit (this time), but it never hurt to check it anyway. His heavy pistol likewise had remained unused, that he kept tucked into its holster on his calf, on a smaller metahuman it might have looked comically large there, on the nearly 9 foot tall troll though it looked just right. The only thing that had really seen any use was his assault rifle, and he frowned. It was too easy, last night. His bullets had ripped right through CorpSec like they weren’t ready for a real fight. Did the corp really send out a bunch of light weights against a team of shadowrunners? 

It didn’t make sense. 

The big troll chewed on this thoughts as he showered off a day and a half worth of sweat, bar smoke, and combat. He kept his gun close, within reach. Replaying the early morning shoot out in his head. As best as he could figure, the corp just wasn’t thinking big enough. They threw 3 teams at a group of runners, not expecting another heavily armed team to come barging in and frag up their little ambush. He smiled, it wasn’t every day you got the drop on corpsec and make their plans go sideways, usually it was the other way around.

He settled down after drying off, his FN HAR assault rifle spread out on what counted as a coffee table (a big plastic spool used for industrial cable, snagged from the side of the road, painted glossy black) in his low rent apartment. He settled in on dismantling and cleaning his gun. Each piece, methodically inspected and cleaned until the whole thing was like new and put back together, checking the mechanisms he nodded, satisfied with his work. 

The thought of Gakana’s dessicated corpse still bothered him, a distant friend true, but still someone he had worked with. Gone now. He knew that trideo shows wouldn’t distract him, and the matrix here was spotty at best. He needed a friend. He tapped gingerly at his overpriced commlink, a short message. “Hey, could use a friend, come over when your beats done?”

A few minutes passed and a simple reply came. “Sure thing Jason, give me a few hours.” A small smile tugged at his lips. 

“Thanks.”

Abrams, the troll tank, pulled the curtain aside that separated his “bedroom” from the rest of the apartment. The nicest thing in his whole home (other than his guns, of course) was that mattress. He only needed about 3 hours of sleep, but at least they were 3 good, comfortable, high-class hours of sleep. Abrams crashed, and his dreams were filled with the dry laughter of a once fat pacific islander named Gakana, booming and rich voice turned hollow, fire dancing in his eyes. The knock at the door woke him, and he reached for his gun instinctively before he heard a woman's warm rough voice “Hey Dmitry, its MJ, open up.”

He set his gun down and closed off his bed from the rest of the apartment “Be right there MJ, gotta get decent.” He knew she was alone, and hadn’t been followed, Had there been danger she would have called him Tank, and had she been followed she would have said her name was Miranda. She didn’t think it was necessary, but she didn’t live in the shadows like he did.

Nope, his best friend was a member of the NYPD. Underpaid, overworked, full national SINner. A respectable citizen if there ever was one. “Hey M.J.” he said, letting her in and closing the door after her. “New haircut?”

“Yeah, I decided to become a brunette for the next few months, you like it?” Abrams smiled and nodded. “Looks good on you. But I think you’d look better with red hair, maybe some LED extensions. Big mohawk.” Abrams gestured with his hands miming a spiked up punk haircut and Miranda grimaced.

“Fuck you, meat slab, I’m still mad your decker found that picture of me on the matrix.” She spat at him, a half smile on her face as she flopped down into a SumoBeanz! brand bean bag around his make-do table.

“Hey, you’re the drek head who thought it would be a good idea to have your social media accounts sanitized.” He tossed her a cold beer and sat down across from her. They clinked bottles and she cocked her head to one side, concerned.

“So, what’s going on Jason?” She asked, her voice concerned.

“Lost someone.” He answered “He wasn’t a great friend, but he was a good person. I’ve worked with him, professional, capable, fun. Almost made you forget about the drek going on around you.” The words spilled out of him, and Miranda listened. “You’d see him at the bar, and even if everything had gone sideways that night, he’d find a way to cheer you up.” His big fist clenched “And some corp bastard set him up, right into a trap.” He stopped when Miranda stood, tall for a human, she was just over 6 foot tall, but even standing she was only barely taller than him while he was sitting on his worn old sofa. She rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I know you Jason, if you could have saved him you would have.” He nodded and sighed “And I bet you brought his body home for his family to bury, right? So they would know what happened and have closure?” Again he nodded.

“We were about to bug out, we had all forgotten how many were on the other team. When I found out I ran back in, the upper floor was on fire, carried his remains out with me. It was the least I could do.” He looked up into Miranda’s green eyes.

“Yeah, and that’s a lot fragging more than most would have done. You should be proud. Now drink your beer, let's toss on some Fight Ball and relax.”

Abrams laughed “If I don’t, are you gonna arrest me?” Miranda’s fist almost bruised his shoulder.

“You wish, drek head.” Her smile finally made him relax, she was right. He had done what he could. It was good to have friends. “Now there should be a euro-zone fight ball match on, lets get blind drunk, watch some half dressed maniacs beat each other up, and pass out.”

“Ok ok, fine, but you gotta tell me what’s going on on your beat, I heard there was some drek going down around there.”

“Yeah…I’m gonna need another beer if we’re gonna get into that drek.”


End file.
